


The Sun is a Star and Other Facts

by lilbluednacer



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Freeform, Inspired by 6a, Kidnapped Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 05:03:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13206546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilbluednacer/pseuds/lilbluednacer
Summary: Later, after Stiles is gone, after they find her wandering around the school parking lot by his Jeep, Lydia doesn't remember a thing.





	The Sun is a Star and Other Facts

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was brought to you by insomnia and random facts about the universe.

Later, when they find her, Lydia doesn't remember a thing.

*

At the hospital Lydia's mother tells her that she was found by one of the Sheriff’s deputies wandering around the school parking lot near Stiles’ Jeep in a daze, tears streaming down her cheeks. When he asked her where Stiles was Lydia told him she couldn't remember.

She doesn't remember being found either, coming back to herself with her mother's arms around her in the small ER room. Scott's mother is here too, in blue scrubs, wrapping a thin blanket tightly around around her, writing things down on a chart, every movement quick and efficient. A doctor comes and Lydia's mother talks to him out in the hallway, glancing surreptitiously back at Lydia, her eyes watering.

“Don't worry,” Nurse McCall says, smoothing Lydia's hair back from her face. “It's normal to have problems with your memory after a trauma” - her voice breaks, she has to turn away to compose herself.

Lydia's mother comes back, a horrible fake cheerful smile on her face. “Well, they said you're fine, the doctor’s going to discharge you in a bit.”

“We can go home?” Lydia whispers.

From the doorway, someone clears his throat. Lydia peeks around her mother's shoulder where the Sheriff is standing at the entrance to her room, his eyes red and watery. “Hey there kiddo,” he says gently. “How're you feeling?”

“I'm okay, she whispers.

He nods, rubbing his crumpled face with one hand. “Would you feel up to answering a few questions before you leave?”

She glances at her mother, who nods and fiddles with Lydia's hospital blanket. “I don't remember anything,” Lydia says quietly.

“Yeah, that's what Parrish said.” The Sheriff come into the room and eases himself down on a plastic chair under the window. “But anything you can remember about tonight, any detail at all, could be important.”

“The last thing I really remember…” Lydia swallows back tears. “Being in the library with everyone. For” -

“Senior scribe.” The Sheriff finishes for her. “Scott was the last one to see you two. He said he saw you leave with Stiles out the side entrance to the parking lot. Stiles was going to give you a ride home?”

She nods vaguely, that sounds right. She and Stiles have been friends ever since Scott and Allison started dating sophomore year and their friend groups merged but lately, especially since Stiles and Malia broke up earlier this year, they've gotten closer. 

“Can you remember anything past that?” he asks her. “Just think for a minute.”

Lydia shuts her eyes, her mother’s hand tight on her wrist, and mentally goes back to the library, Allison scrawling her name and passing her pen to Lydia to do the same, Stiles’ hand on her shoulder, the echo of their shoes on the floor as they'd walked away, the rush of cool night air when they went outside, and then - slivers of memory. Like those first few seconds when you wake up from a dream, the story and details dissolving until it's nothing but a vague impression:

His hand tightly held in hers.

Running. 

_They don't want you, they're here for me, Lydia, please -_

_No, I'm not leaving you!_

Her eyes open and tears stream down her cheeks. “I think… I think he knew.”

“Knew what, sweetheart?” The Sheriff is sitting on the edge of his seat, his hands curled into fists over his thighs.

She dives back into the memory but it's just a fragment - his hand releasing hers, his voice somehow very soft and calm, reassuring her even though she can still feel it, the fear, the panic that something terrible is about to happen and she can't stop it.

Lydia blinks back more tears and looks at the Sheriff. “I think he knew they were going to take him.”

*

In second grade Lydia's class did a unit on the sun in science. She filled a notebook with neat little facts because knowledge is power and it gave her a thrill to see it there, spelled out in black and white, the order of the universe revealing itself:

  * the sun is a star
  * a long time ago people thought the sun revolved around the earth but they're wrong, the earth revolves around the sun
  * the sun produces energy that supports all life on earth
  * without it, everything alive would wither and grow cold and eventually, die



*

Allison sleeps over that night, curled up under the covers next to Lydia in the dark. “They called my dad in,” she whispers.

Lydia shoots her a worried look. Mr. Argent is an arms dealer, he sells guns to police departments and private security firms, on the books of course, he's a businessman, not a criminal. But in his line of work he's met a good amount of people with unsavory pasts and he occasionally consults with the Sheriff's’ department.

“Scott’s a mess,” Allison continues, her voice shaking. “Isaac said it took him all night to convince him to back home. He's been driving all over the entire _county_ looking for Stiles, his mom threatened to ground him. She says we should stay out of it and let the police do their jobs. But you know how Scott is.”

“It's not his fault,” Lydia murmurs.

Allison sighs and presses her face into the back of Lydia's neck. “It isn't yours, either.”

*

When she goes back to school the next day Lydia makes it all the way to Stiles’ locker before she realizes her mistake. She stands there, one hand trailing over the lock, her chest tight, because they're supposed to walk to class together. Only Stiles isn't here and she is and everything is wrong.

“Hey Lydia.” Scott’s standing in front of her, and he looks terrible. His eyes are red and he's pale under his tan, he's wearing a grey long sleeved hoodie even though it's almost seventy degrees outside. “How are you doing?”

“I forgot,” she confesses, her voice cracking. “I got all the way here before I remembered.”

Scott sighs and wraps one arm across her shoulders. “Come on,” he says softly. “I'll walk you to class.”

*

At lunchtime, when everyone else is eating at their usual table in the courtyard, Lydia wanders out to the parking lot. Stiles’ Jeep is inexplicably still here, parked in the back row. She walks over to the passenger side and presses her face to the window. His lacrosse bag is still in the backseat next to a crumpled red hoodie, an empty paper bag from McDonalds, a few napkins, a roll of duct tape. She mentally catalogues each item, like it matters, like somehow the contents of his car could reveal his whereabouts if only she looked hard enough.

*

Her name gets called over the loudspeaker when she's sitting in AP history class next to Kira. Kira raises an eyebrow at her and Lydia shrugs, mystified, picks up her bag and walks out of class and down to the office. Her mother is waiting for her behind her desk and sitting in a chair across from her is one of the Sheriff’s deputies, Jordan Parrish, the one who apparently found her last night.

Lydia sinks into the empty chair next to him, her heart in her throat.

“Hey, Lydia,” he says, calm and easy. She knows him, a little anyway, she runs into him at the station sometimes with Stiles, and he's broken up a few parties she's attended since he started working in Beacon Hills last year.

Lydia crosses her legs and smooths her lavender skater skirt over her thighs. “What's going on?”

Her mother sighs, her reading glasses pushed up into her hair. “Apparently the Sheriff’s station acquired security footage from last night of you and Stiles.”

“We were hoping you'd come down and take a look, maybe it’ll jog your memory.” Parrish gives her one of his patented Boy Scout smiles.

“I can go with you,” her mother adds. “I just need to” -

“It's fine,” Lydia says quickly, and shoulders her bag. “I can do it.”

Her mother gives her a strange look, a mix of pride and sorrow. “Alright then. Deputy Parrish will drive you home when you're done.” It's an order, not a request.

Lydia sighs and stands up from her chair. “Alright.”

*

In a small room in the Sheriff’s station Lydia is placed at a table in front of a computer screen, Deputy Parrish to her right. “The footage isn't great,” he tells her. “We pulled this from a red light camera down the street but it faces the school parking lot.”

“What am I looking for?”

Deputy Parrish shifts in his seat. “Just let me know if anything looks familiar. Or if it makes you think of something you hadn't thought of before now.”

She nods and he leans past her to start the video. The screen crackles to life, static, and then there's a little audible pop and the footage begins. It's the school parking lot, Lydia can see Stiles’ Jeep at the bottom of the frame. And then two people walk into view.

It's her and Stiles, approaching from the top right corner, walking through the parking lot. Something strange happens to Lydia as she watches a black and white version of herself hold hands with Stiles, their pace odd and clipped, like they're rushing: the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and her whole body goes cold, like a warning. On the screen she and Stiles look like they're arguing, he tries to pull his hand away and Lydia watches, stunned, as the Lydia on the screen refuses to let him go. She can't see their faces, just the shadows of their bodies, their linked hands, as they turn together and run across the screen.

She jumps when Jordan puts his hand on her shoulder. “This next part is - well, you'll see.”

Lydia squints at the screen, watching as it happens. They melt out of the shadows, men, at least four of them. They're dressed head to toe in dark colors, hats, bandanas covering their faces so all she can see is the slits of their eyes. It happens so quickly - one second she and Stiles are surrounded, and the next they're all gone, vanishing from the screen like smoke, and all that's left on the video is a girl, _her_ , standing helplessly with her hands at her sides, her mouth open in a silent scream.

Lydia crumples over, her hands coming up to her face. “Turn it off,” she begs.

“Lydia” -

“I told you already, I don't remember anything!”

“Okay,” he says softly. “Take a breath, it's alright.”

“It's not alright,” she hisses, and pushes back from her chair. “I want to go home now.”

He nods and with a press of a button the screen goes black.

*

They kissed once, her and Stiles. She never told anyone about it, not even Allison, and she suspects Stiles didn't either. It wasn't something planned, it wasn't like they went on a date or got drunk at a party and fell face first into each other. They were at school, junior year, just a normal day, except it wasn't normal, not for Stiles anyway. His dad was working on a case, murder, multiple victims, killed in odd ritualistic ways, a suspected serial killer most likely. The Sheriff had been working nonstop, he hadn't checked in the night before, and clearly the stress of the case had trickled down to Stiles.

They'd been walking down the hallway when Lydia noticed he wasn't talking, just staring at her, his eyes too big, skin pale, and when she'd asked if he was okay he put one hand over his chest and gasped out, _I think I'm having a panic attack_. She could see it, the fear written on his face, and Lydia took his hand and dragged him down the hallway to the locker room. He’d collapsed on the floor and Lydia kept talking to him but the words that came out sounded useless, like silly advice in a magazine, and then she'd been afraid too, because this was Stiles and Lydia couldn't fail him, not when he'd always been there, his presence and affection for her as constant as the sun.

So she kissed him.

When he asked her why she blurted out something about how she read once that holding your breath could stop a panic attack, and when she'd kissed him he held his breath. He stared at her with an expression Lydia had never seen before - like she was a goddess, a brilliant fiery being for him to worship. 

They went back to class and that night Lydia researched panic attacks so that next time she'd really know what to do, and they never talked about what happened between them that day.

After that, something changed.

*

“My dad said they call them ghosts,” Allison says in a hushed voice at lunch. “No one sees them, they take what they want and then…” Allison snaps her fingers. “They vanish.”

“Are you sure you don't remember anything?” Scott asks Lydia. 

Lydia peels the crusts off her turkey sandwich, the bread tastes like cardboard. “Obviously not,” she snipes. She didn't sleep the night before, haunted by visions of those men snatching Stiles right out of her hands.

“Sorry,” Scott mutters. 

Across the table Malia slams her precalc book shut. “Screw this,” she growls, gets up from the lunch table and stomps away, her hand over her mouth so no one can hear her when she start to cry.

Scott groans and starts to get up but Lydia beats him to it, snatching Malia's abandoned textbook and chasing after her. Malia makes it across the courtyard before she collapses in the dirt under a tree, her arm crossed over her face. Lydia carefully sits down on her heels next to her so she doesn't get grass stains on her dress and waits for Malia to calm down.

“It's okay to miss him,” Lydia tells her eventually.

It was - hard, for her, when Malia and Stiles were together. Lydia never said anything to him about it, she didn't have the right, not after the way she treated him back when she was with Jackson, and then distracted herself with Aiden. She wanted Stiles to be happy, even if it wasn't with her, and for awhile, he was.

And then he and Malia broke up and Lydia got pulled right back into his orbit.

Malia glares at her between her fingers. “Do you still miss Jackson?”

Lydia flinches. “It's not the same thing. Jackson isn't…”

“Stiles.” Malia sniffs furiously, glaring at the textbook Lydia is holding. “He always helps me study. Even after we broke up, he said friends don't let friends bomb tests.”

Lydia traces the cover of the book. Malia had a weird history before she transferred to school here, she grew up in one of those backwards communes up north in the woods, Stiles says the school wanted to drop Malia down to freshman classes when she first transferred here, before peer tutoring assigned him to help catch her up. 

Lydia sighs and holds her hand out to Malia. “Come on, I'll help you study.”

“Really?” Malia asks hesitantly.

“Well, we're friends too, right? Besides, I can't let you slack off now or Stiles will never let me hear the end of it when he gets back.”

“Right,” Malia says softly, and takes her hand.

*

At the end of the school day Cora Hale and Erica Reyes are waiting by Lydia's locker. They're both wearing leather jackets, Erica's blond curls fall halfway down her back and Cora’s hair is pulled tightly back from her face in a severe ponytail. Both girls operate on the fringes of the group, primarily because they both share a mutual affection for Stiles, even though he never dated either of them (although he and Cora used to have what Stiles referred to as a _thing_ , right around when Lydia was hooking up with Aiden last year).

They're the resident bad girls of the senior class, they like fast cars and red lipstick and leather, making all the boys stare when they walk down the hallway together. Allison and Lydia sometimes privately refer to them as S&M.

“What.” Lydia side-steps Erica to get to her locker.

“We were wondering if you'd heard anything,” Cora says.

“Don't you think if anyone knew anything it’d be all over school by now?” Lydia asks. 

Erica snaps her gum. “No need to get touchy princess, we're just curious.”

“Besides, weren't you there?” Cora presses. “Unless you really don't remember” -

Lydia slams her locker shut. “I really don't remember anything. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Cora examines her fingernails idly. “You're not the only one who cares about him, you know.”

Lydia fights back a strange wave of possessiveness. “I'm aware of that.”

Cora's phone beeps, obnoxiously loud. “Shit, that's Derek. Nice chatting with you.” She grabs Erica's arm and Lydia watches them walk away, baffled, listening to the click of their heels on the floor as they leave.

*

The reason the earth revolves around the sun is because of gravity. The sun’s gravitational pull is strong enough to keep the earth spinning around it, year after year after year. Without gravity, that pull, that celestial connection, the earth would be lost in the darkness of space.

*

Days pass. Nothing happens. Lydia watches Scott grow small and furious and determined. He takes off with Isaac in the middle of the day sometimes and leaves Allison behind. When Lydia asks her what they do Allison just shrugs and pretends that she's not hurt Scott is shutting her out. Malia starts regressing, she lashes out at everyone, throws temper tantrums over nothing, shows up at school with unbrushed hair and dirty fingernails.

Lydia isn't immune either. She stops curling her hair, she stops putting on eyeliner, she stops wearing dresses.

She didn't do any of those things for Stiles, because of him, but now that he's gone none of it seems to matter anymore.

*

She skips school one day and goes for a run on the trail that winds through the Preserve. She's a second semester senior, she's already gotten into MIT, it doesn't matter if she doesn't go to class.

Nothing matters, not right now, not without Stiles.

She runs until her lungs burn and her legs ache and in the middle of the woods, with no one to witness her except for the trees and the dirt and the birds, Lydia cries. She sobs, she screams, she slaps her palms against a tree until the skin breaks open because it isn't _fair_ , that Stiles could be taken from her, separated from her. 

She _needs_ , they all need him. Without Stiles their world is growing dark and cold, senseless. How did she not realize it before, that he's the glue that holds them all together? He pulls everyone into his orbit like he did with Lydia, with his stupid jokes and sarcastic commentary, his easy way of holding her hand for no reason at all.

Without Stiles there's nothing to keep her grounded, connected. She still has her friends, she has Allison, and Scott, Malia, Isaac, but without Stiles to hold her Lydia can feel herself separating from everyone, floating through space.

Why didn't they take her too? Why him?

Why can't she remember?

“Hey, aren't you supposed to be in school?”

When her head snaps up Derek Hale, Cora’s older brother, is standing a few feet away, wearing an old Beacon Hills basketball team hoodie and a pair of shorts, his dark hair damp with sweat.

Lydia shrugs and stares down at the dirty toes of her Nikes. “Didn't feel like it.”

Derek nods sagely. “You're Stiles’ friend, right? The girl he was with when he was kidnapped?”

Hearing it, the words said out loud, hurts more than she wants to admit. “How'd you know that?”

He shrugs. “Cora won't shut up about it.”

“Right.” That's Cora, a worse gossip than even Lydia was, back in her glory days of sophomore year, when she used to be nothing but a pretty princess doll hanging off Jackson's arm.

“You okay?” 

She scowls. Of course she's not okay. “I'm fine.”

“You're bleeding,” Derek points out.

She looks down at her hands where blood is welling up, beading and rolling down her fingertips like teardrops. She must have scraped them on the tree bark. “Oh.”

Derek sighs heavily, like this is a huge inconvenience to him. “Come on, I have a first aid kit in my car.”

Lydia follows him silently back through the woods. His Camaro is parked at the entrance of the Preserve, Lydia waits while Derek opens the passenger door and gets a first aid kit out of the glove box. “Come on,” he says, and pats the seat.

Lydia circles around him and lowers herself into the car, careful not to touch anything. She jumps when Derek touches her wrist, his fingers solid and firm against her skin. “Easy,” Derek murmurs. 

Lydia watches as he rips open an antiseptic wipe and dabs it over her scrapes. She braces herself, waiting for the burn, but Derek bows his head and blows lightly over the cuts and the chemical sting never comes. He dabs antibiotic cream onto her palms with the tip of his pinkie and finishes with a few band-aides, snaps the kit closed and puts it away. He really is gorgeous, with that cut jawline and mysterious light eyes, all those muscles hidden under his sweatshirt.

“Buckle up,” he says. “I'll give you a ride home.”

Lydia swings her legs into the car and he shuts the door behind her, jogs around to the driver’s side and gets in, starts the car and guns the engine. “You live off of Magnolia, right?”

Lydia nods, surprised. She doesn't really know him beyond the context of his relationship to Cora, he was way ahead of her in school. Everyone knows of the Hales of course, after the fire they became famous in a terrible sort of way.

“I picked Cora up from your house after your New Year’s Eve party last year,” Derek explains. “She puked all over the backseat.”

“She shouldn't have mixed all that vodka and rum,” Lydia says coolly. 

Derek snorts. “I think she learned her lesson.”

When he gets to her house Derek shifts the car into park and turns to look at her. “Look,” he says in a low voice. “It's normal. To feel guilty after.”

Lydia glances sideways at him. “Do you?”

Derek's pretty eyes go dark. “Every day.”

*

She goes to Stiles’ house one afternoon with Scott. They sit in the living room with the Sheriff and have cookies and lemonade while he explains in a rusty overused voice that they're doing everything they can, something will happen, eventually, they have to be patient. Lydia asks if they they know anything more about the men who took him and the Sheriff gently tells her that even if he did he isn't allowed to talk about the details. He and Scott spitball theories for awhile and Lydia can't take it anymore, she excuses herself but instead of going to the bathroom she walks down the hall to Stiles’ room and presses her forehead against his door.

She likes his room. It's familiar, his, a safe place for her to go when she needs it. The night Jackson broke up with her Lydia spent half the night here, crying into Stiles’ shoulder and he never once said, _he's not worth it_ or _don't cry_ , or even, _I told you so_.

Junior year she practically lived here, when their friendship became more solidified. They had movie marathons on his bed, late night study sessions with their books spread out all over his floor. She's always been allowed here, has felt an entitled right to his space in a way she probably shouldn't have. But Stiles has always been like that with Lydia - made room in his life for her and waited patiently for her to stake her claim to it.

And now he's gone and it's too late. 

Lydia does a slow slide to the floor, a low sob tearing out of her throat, and when Scott comes looking for her fifteen minutes later she's sitting with her back against Stiles’ door, crying into her hands.

*

Lydia's doing her French homework at Allison's house, their books spread out between the plates of spaghetti Mr. Argent cooked when his cell phone goes off. He jumps up from the table to answer it and Lydia can tell right away it's about Stiles because his eyes slide to her before he turns his back. Allison reaches out and squeezes her hand as they wait for Mr. Argent to finish his call. 

He mutters something into the phone and hangs up, shooting the girls a grave look. “They got a video.”

Spaghetti threatens to crawl up Lydia's throat. “A video?”

He nods, picking up his wallet and keys from the counter. “I want you girls to stay here until I get back, alright?”

“Okay,” Allison says in a strange, high voice. “Dad” -

“Call Scott,” he instructs. “Have him come here and wait with you, I don't want him doing anything stupid.”

Allison goes white. “Okay.”

He comes around the table to kiss Allison's forehead and give Lydia a kind pat on the shoulder. “He's going to be fine. Contact is a good thing, it means” -

“It means they didn't kill him,” Allison whispers, and starts to cry.

Mr. Argent leaves and Scott shows up twenty minutes later with Isaac in tow. Scott is a wreck, his hands are shaking and as soon as he sees Allison he collapses into her with an ugly raw sob. Isaac bypasses them and crosses over to the bar to raid Mr. Argent’s liquor cabinet. Lydia follows him idly, shivering, and when Isaac mixes a vodka tonic and passes it to her she takes it with both hands. He pours a few more drinks and takes them over to Scott and Allison. He and Allison convince Scott to sit down on the couch, sandwiched in between them, his head on Allison's shoulder. Lydia sinks down on the couch next to Allison and curls up in ball, a horrible silence descending over them.

Isaac is the one to turn on the tv, grab blankets from the cabinet and spread them over everyone. Lydia tilts her head back to give Isaac a silent look of gratitude, and he shrugs. “When it comes to dealing with a crises I'm a certified professional.”

Lydia remembers Isaac's dead mother, Camden, the night Isaac showed up at Scott's house bloody and shaken, before his father was arrested and Scott's mom decided to foster him. “Thanks,” she murmurs, and reaches out to squeeze his forearm.

They all end falling asleep on the couch together in front of the flickering blue light of the television. Lydia wakes up at five-thirty when Allison's phone rings, vibrating loudly on the coffee table. Allison crawls out from where she's sleeping under Scott and snatches up her phone, unlocks it and presses it to her ear. “Dad?”

Scott groans and stretches, rubbing his eyes furiously, and pokes Isaac in the chest with his foot. They all watch as Allison listens to whatever Mr. Argent says and then she nods and murmurs, “Okay,” and hangs up.

Allison drops her phone into her lap and curls back against Scott. “They're analyzing the video, he said they've got a few locations narrowed down. They, um… they asked for money. Dad says they picked Stiles because of his dad, you know, it makes him high profile. I guess they asked for a lot.”

“Allison,” Lydia whispers. “What was on the video?”

Allison blinks heavily. “Proof of life.”

Scott coughs wetly into his fist. “Is he hurt?”

Allison bites her lip. “I don't know.”

None of them are able to fall back asleep. Lydia goes into the kitchen and gets a pot of coffee started and a few minutes later Scott wanders in, grabs a glass from the cabinet above the sink and fills it from the tap. Lydia leans against the counter as the coffee brews. She rubs her hands together, freezing, imagining Stiles, alone, hurt, frightened. Stiles tied up, Stiles broken and bleeding, Stiles dying before she can tell him she loves him.

“Oh, Lydia,” Scott murmurs, because she's started to cry without even realizing it, her hands clenched into fists.

“I think I'm in love with him,” she confesses. “And now I'll - what if we never” -

Scott puts his arms around her and Lydia rests her cheek on his shoulder. “It's okay,” Scott whispers. “I think he knows.”

*

The four of them eat cereal on the couch and go through a pot of coffee, watching mindless reality tv. When Allison's phone rings again it's the middle of the afternoon. Lydia mutes the tv, her body going cold and numb as Allison answers the phone. There's a minute of complete silence, all three of them watching her listen to whatever Mr. Argent is telling her, and then Allison bursts into tears and passes the phone to Scott.

Lydia's ears ring, she can't breathe, and for one moment of pure terror she's convinced that she's dying, but then Allison throws her arms around her and chokes out, “They found him, he's okay, he's going to be fine, it's okay now,” and Lydia buries her face in Allison's curls and weeps.

*

Stiles spends the night in the hospital for observation before he's released into his father's care. In the morning Lydia and her mother bake, they make two dozen chocolate chip muffins and set them on the counter to cool while Lydia showers and puts on a fresh dress. She curls her hair and slicks on lipgloss, packs the muffins into two large Tupperware containers and follows her mother out to the car. They drive to Stiles’ house, her mother parks in their driveway next to the Sheriff’s cruiser.

Lydia follows her mother out of the car, the muffins clutched in her hands. The Sheriff opens the door, looking exhausted but happy, and takes the Tupperware from Lydia with a gentle smile. “Come on in. Lydia, Stiles is on the couch in the living room and I'm sure he'd love some company. Natalie, how about a cup of coffee?”

Her mother follows him down the hall towards the kitchen and Lydia goes into the living room. The Dark Knight is playing on the tv with the volume turned down low, and there on the couch, wrapped tightly in a plaid fleece blanket, is Stiles. His skin is too pale and his hair is a mess, there's a sickening greenish-yellow bruise on his left cheek and his bottom lip is split open.

It's the most beautiful thing Lydia's ever seen.

The moment his eyes land on her he launches up from the couch, tripping over the blanket, and Lydia meets him halfway, flying into his arms and pressing her face against his as she starts to gasp for air.

“Hey, it's okay, I'm here, oh Lydia, c’mere, don't cry.” His hands are all over her, touching her waist, the back of her neck, her hair, her wet cheeks.

“I didn't tell you before,” she blurts out, clutching his shirt in her hands. “Stiles, I” -

He cuts her off, pressing his lips against hers, and Lydia melts, kissing him back, warmth spreading through her body. Stiles pulls away and kisses her eyelids, the tip of her nose. “You didn't have to,” he whispers. “I know.”

Lydia stares up at him, the light coming in through the window warm on her face. For the first time since he was taken the world stops spinning, the cold goes away, the pull in her chest doesn't hurt anymore. He gives her the softest smile and Lydia gives into gravity, lets it pull her down against him, back where she belongs.


End file.
